I used to think life wasn’t listening.
That I was sending prayers into some void —
and all I got back was chaos.
But over time, a pattern emerged.
Every time I wasn’t in the right energy field —
life removed me.
Violently, confusingly, sometimes heartbreakingly.
It didn’t ask.
It catapulted.
And looking back, it never did so without reason.
I’ve lived through chapters I would never choose again.
A man once tried to kill me.
That’s not metaphor. It’s a scar.
I’ve been crushed under toxic hierarchies.
Belittled, underestimated, quietly erased —
just for speaking too clearly, or feeling too much.
I’ve stayed in codependent relationships that made me small,
because my nervous system confused familiarity with safety.
I chased productivity like a drug.
Forgot to sleep. Forgot to eat.
Forgot who I was outside the applause.
And still —
I kept asking life to show me the truth.
To lead me to purpose.
To give me meaning.
And it did.
But not how I wanted.
How I needed.
Every dismantling was an answer.
Every heartbreak was a gate.
Even the good moments —
those high-frequency, everything-clicks, stay-here-forever kind of moments —
they left, too.
Often too soon.
Because clinging to the light is still clinging.
And clinging isn’t alignment.
I once hunted what I called “authenticity.”
But the deeper I looked, the more I realized:
This system isn’t built on truth.
It’s built on “fake it until you make it.”
On polished personas.
On subtle manipulation.
Not just in business.
In love. In leadership.
In every sentence we speak.
Most people don’t even know they’re scripting.
And so we walk through this world,
each living on our own island of reality —
utterly convinced we’re speaking the same language.
We’re not.
And yet:
I’ve stopped seeing this as a problem.
It’s the design.
Each distortion is a mirror.
Each shadow a potential door.
The triggers we hate the most —
they’re often the very invitations we’ve been avoiding.
And if you’re brave enough to stop resisting the discomfort,
you’ll start to see what it’s always been trying to give you:
Not pain for the sake of pain.
But medicine, wearing a mask you didn’t expect.
I’m addicted to meaning.
To depth.
To cutting through the noise.
It’s probably because I’m an old soul.
With the soul role of a Warrior.
Not the fighting kind.
The kind who’s here to fight for light.
For truth.
For resonance.
For remembrance.
Some battles take lifetimes.
I’m okay with that.
I’m not here to win.
But I am here to begin.
If any of this echoes something in you —
keep going.
Keep listening.
Especially when life doesn’t answer in the form you asked for.
Because that’s often the moment it’s finally telling you the truth.